


People Look So Lonely with Eyes Turned Down

by thewingedoctopus



Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Apocalypse, American Horror Story: Coven
Genre: I love writing them together, a quick study of my sad sad babies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-10
Updated: 2019-08-10
Packaged: 2020-08-14 16:17:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20195110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewingedoctopus/pseuds/thewingedoctopus
Summary: What if it had been Misty who'd accompanied Madison to the Murder House instead of the Hawthorne warlock, Behold?A quick study of the necromancer and the telekinetic. 8x06.Implied foxxay





	People Look So Lonely with Eyes Turned Down

**Author's Note:**

> Tomorrow evening I'll update Judge, Jury, Executioner, so in the meantime!  
Thank you for reading!

Every tree they passed encased them in shadows, the air turning frigid and sending a shiver through her spine and into her knobby knees. With each step she took she wished the densely decorated sidewalk would end. 

She’d thought Los Angeles would have been warmer this time of year. 

She nudged the girl at her side away from her, sending the wild haired blonde farther so she could enjoy the sudden warmth in the sunlight that bathed her in between two large houses. But the woman gravitated back towards her unconsciously, wrapped tight in a black and grey shawl that begged her for some semblance of human warmth that only Madison Montgomery could provide in that early morning whirlwind. 

The telekinetic grew cold again, the sun blocked by the much taller necromancer, and for once she didn’t make a show of keeping up with Misty Day’s much longer strides as she stayed behind lightly to catch the last of Helios before the next address. 

She wanted to speak to the older girl, they hadn’t in so many years now, but neither of them had dared on the bus over and Madison hesitated, unsure of her own feelings. Misty’s feelings. She let her eyes rake over the witch walking in front of her, still so ethereal even after a stay in her own and others’ dark nightmares, and she sighed inwardly.

She could have fit inside Misty’s frame, fit inside her clothes two times over, wrapped the shawl around her scrawny shoulders so many times she’d have been but a nameless husk, and she so wished she could. She’d missed the necromancer despite her initial reaction when the woman had gasped out her first breath in lifetimes, missed the warmth she herself had never been able to find within her own soul, and yet she couldn’t help the intense jealousy that ate her from inside out. 

She’d felt a breath of pride when she’d seen the Supreme’s black eyes looking down into her own hazel, worried fingers against her cheeks. She’d been wanted enough that she’d been reinvigorated once again, once more. One last chance. Cordelia Goode couldn’t live without her advice, her guidance, her, could she? But she’d cried once Misty had coughed out, sobbed, but Madison had only had a hand passed through her hair and a shaking arm around her shoulders. 

And while the eldest witch had asked her personally to execute a mission for the Coven, she’d asked Misty to shadow her all the way to the quiet neighborhood on the outskirts of her previous Californian home, to the place where the man who dared undermine her power had once lived. She’d borne the task proudly on her shoulders until Misty had crept up behind her, as quiet as she had been in death. She’d sat with her head down between her knees on the long, long ride over. 

The famed building loomed over them, sunlight filtering through broken window panes casting disturbing shapes over Misty’s face. Madison had expected more of the local tourist trap, but she didn’t think longer on it as she turned to face their real destination. 

It was a somber enough of a home, grandiose in that upper middle-class kind of way that she’d come to almost cherish in Robichaux’s architecture and compared to the Murder House it was kept clean. 

Misty followed her up the driveway, having found herself behind Madison when the younger girl had suddenly turned to face the house, inching closer as the telekinetic came to a halt in front of the door. 

She rested her hand on it.

She could tell the necromancer was puzzled by her hesitation (they had a goal after all), but, she mused, Misty should have been used to it now. She hadn’t changed; if the swamp witch had, Madison hadn’t. She’d never been sure of herself and two trips to the land of the dead had only worsened both her self-assuredness and her entire outlook on her personality. Or its lack thereof. 

But now, hundreds of miles from New Orleans and the Supreme’s black gaze turned away from their escapades, she found her voice. One she hadn’t had since Cordelia’s ascension, one she certainly hadn’t found during their trip to L.A., one she didn’t think she’d actually find with Misty towering behind her, casting her warm shadow down her back. She squared her shoulders. 

“Are you mad at me?” Madison murmured. 

Misty gasped audibly, taken aback by the sudden question. “What?”

“You haven’t spoken to me since you came back from-” The young blonde swallowed harshly. “You were chatty, before, even if we fought sometimes. You still talked to me.” She shifted her weight to her other hip. 

“You weren’t sayin’ anythin’,” the necromancer offered. “I figured you didn’t wanna talk to me.”

“You weren’t saying anything either.” Madison paused, reigning in her rapid anger. “I missed it while you were gone. Talking to you. I miss it.” 

Misty softened, letting out a slow breath. She looked away momentarily, respectfully, as Madison brought a hand to her cheek to wipe away at a stray tear. 

“Whatever,” the then-actress muttered. “Let’s just get this over with.” Her knuckles rapped on the wood. 

“I asked to come,” Misty said quickly. “Cordelia wanted me to rest, but I couldn’t let you come here alone with no warlock.”

The telekinetic laughed softly but she didn’t turn. “You don’t trust men?”

Misty grimaced. “I don’t trust none who trusts that Michael boy.” Madison nodded wisely, chewing on her inner cheek. 

“Fair enough.”

“I missed you too, Madison.”

The girl nodded curtly.

They waited for a moment, the wind swirling around them and dead leaves picking up, but nothing came of Madison’s knocking. She turned to share a confused glance with the older woman. Neither had thought that perhaps the house’s owner wouldn’t be home. Misty shifted awkwardly, both witches suddenly faced with silence and what they’d just admitted to the other. Madison’s face twisted in anger as she knocked again, louder this time. 

But again no one answered, and this time the youngest blonde of the three of them began to lose her temper and her tongue was loose and sharp and accusatory.

“You have no idea how much she sacrificed to have you back.” Misty glanced at her quizzically but didn’t reply. “The first time, I mean. The first time you died.” She laughed sourly. “The second time too.”

The necromancer’s voice was a whisper. “Miss Cordelia cares a lot about her students. She’s a good teacher.”

“Misty,” Madison seemed to plead.

“She asked for you back, didn’t she?”

“Do you think she sacrificed as much for you after you went to Hell?” The younger girl tilted her head up to look at the stars. “I think she did. It didn’t work, but-” She blinked. “It took a lot of balls for her to ask Michael for help. You know how she is.” She threw a knowing smile, half hidden in the darkness, at the swamp witch. “She thinks the world of you. I just wish she did of me too.”

“Madison,” Misty warned. “She thinks just as highly of you as she does me.”

“Not in the same way,” the girl replied. “She never has.”

They stood in the bristling wind, the necromancer wrapped tightly in her shawl and the telekinetic hugging her arms to her chest, both waiting for a sun that would come but wouldn’t reach their hearts just yet. 

“I don’t think she knows,” Misty whispered softly, suddenly, voice cracking through the cold air. Madison thought she could hear her voice crack too. “I’m tryin’ to keep away, Maddie, she don’t need this right now, what with everythin’ on her plate. I’d like you to respect that for me. Or, if not for me, for her.”

Madison nodded but it was lost to Misty in the shadows. “Okay.” She repeated herself, strength in her words this time. The necromancer thanked her with a light pass of the inside of her hand to her elbow. 

“How long have you known, Misty?” Madison asked. “How long does it take for someone to fall in love? How long did it take you?”

It took a second for the woman to reply, caught in a whirlwind of thoughts and memories of blue, blue and black, and black. “I don’t think I ever wasn’t.” The girl snorted but Misty just smiled, finding humor in the hazel eyed blonde’s response, like she used to before their untimely demises. Madison had reacted the same way on a particular night, right before the older witch delivered a powerful backhand to her jaw. She rested her hand on the telekinetic’s shoulder and Madison lit a new cigarette, the flame casting her face in a low orange light.

The door opened in a creak.


End file.
